A cacophony of smells met Wilson’s nose as he pushed open the door of the pawn shop. A bell on the handle jingled. Mothballs, wood polish, and aged paper all formed a musty perfume that instilled the whole shop with a sense of age. Dark wood paneling lined the walls and ceiling above a carpet the color of mucus. Dust motes floated indolently in the light from the front window. Wilson walked further into the shop, passing a wall of clocks. Suddenly, a chorus of ringing, bongs, and cuckoos assaulted his ears as the time pieces all eagerly competed to announce the hour, from the stately grandfathers standing on the floor to the delicately carved German cuckoo clocks on the wall.